Moriarty's Goodbye
by Believe4Ever
Summary: I love Moriarty, strangely, so this is a story that I made where Moriarty dies (not on the roof of St. Bart's in The Reichenbach Fall). In this one he seems to take a human turn and show off that he has actually had people he cares about.


Moriarty sat on the bed, his head resting against the cold brick behind him. Little light shone into his room. No, not his room. His cell. He sat there, his hair no longer filled with product and bags under his eyes. Sherlock did it. Moriarty messed up. How could he have slipped up? He thought he had everything planned, every detail, but Sherlock had thought of what was missing . . . That stupid consulting detective won.

So there the criminal sat. Sherlock had taken down his web, so he had no one to threaten the jury with. His trial was last week. Found guilty on hundreds of misdemeanors, major and minor. No one wanted him to serve time. Too much chance that he would escape. No, he got the death sentence without a single objection.

It was his policy not to give up. There was always a way out, right? But he'd tried for a couple months, now. They put him in the highest security prison, solitary confinement, in fact. It was nearly time for Death to come knocking. He'd get the lethal injection in about twenty minutes.

Moriarty lifted his head up so he was looking at the security camera in the corner. When they first put him there, he used to talk to the camera. Not talking, as much as screaming. That didn't get him anywhere. But he knew someone was watching. Someone always had to be watching.

"Hey," he called to the camera. He had long lost his confident, snarky tone long ago. He was broken now. "Hey, I know someone is watching there. I have a final request. If you're listening, zoom in and out."

It took a moment, but he saw the lens do as he asked. "Good," Moriarty sighed. "My final request is that I get a phone call. Ten minutes maximum. You can tap the call if you want, make sure that I'm not talking in code or making a plan to break out. I just want to say goodbye to someone. I'd like to get my last phone call before I die."

The camera didn't do anything after that. The criminal gave a sigh. It wasn't like he really expected to get his request granted. But wasn't everyone else supposed to be merciful?

Moriarty suddenly found his door opening. He shielded his eyes from the bright light that flooded in. When he could stand the light, he squinted and found guards looking at him, all of their guns aimed at him.

"One phone call?" the front guard asked.

"Just one," Moriarty assured him.

"Then come. Make one bad move and you'll get an early death."

Moriarty nodded. They surrounded him as they walked down the hall, like Secret Service. It felt a little nice, having all this protection, but he knew that they were really just boxing him in. Couldn't have their perfect little criminal escaping, could they?

The criminal found himself in a glass room. It was like the whole room was made of one-way glass. He couldn't see anything out of the room, but he knew someone was watching. Probably multiple people.

He was sitting at a metal table. The chair was hard and cold. On the table lay a BlackBerry cell phone. He picked it up, feeling the smooth case. He hadn't held anything electronic in so long it was as if it was new technology. When he could recall the phone number he needed to dial, he made the call.

It rang a couple times until an elder woman answered it with a firm, "Who is this?"

Moriarty gulped. It's been years since he heard that voice. "Hello . . . Mother."

"Mother? I don't have a son."

The criminal closed his eyes. Figured that she'd disown him. "Mother, it's me. Jimmy."

"Jimmy? Honestly? You're calling me? Why in the world are you calling?"

"You still don't watch the news? Or read the papers?"

"Of course not. It's full of governmental lies."

Well that might make this conversation at least a little easier. "Um, that's good, I suppose. I'm glad you still believe that. But, you really should watch the news some time . . ."

"Where have you been for the past years? It was like you disappeared off the face of the earth! I never heard from you, and you never visited; you never even sent a letter! All of a sudden you call me up and expect everything to be okay?"

". . . Of course not."

"You'd better think not! I've been completely alone for years without even a word from you. Did you know that your father died three years ago?"

Moriarty gulped again, harder this time. "Yes, I went to his grave after the funeral."

"Oh, did you, now? He wanted you to be there, you know. That's what he asked on his death bed: 'Will Jimmy be there?'"

Moriarty rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't help anything! What in the world have you been doing the past years?!"

"Um . . . projects . . . of sorts . . ."

"And you couldn't be bothered with talking to your parents?"

"I'm afraid not. It was very secretive stuff."

"What do you do, then? For a living? Are you married? Children?"

"I'm a consultant . . . of sorts. And no, I'm not married. Relationships and children aren't my strong points."

"You've disappoint your mother, Jimmy, you have!"

"I'm sor—"

"Quit apologizing to me! I'm not someone who can be bought!"

"I know. You're a strong woman."

"You've got that right!"

Moriarty checked the time on the phone. It was about five minutes before execution time. He'd better wrap this up. "I was just calling to say goodbye."

"Goodbye? The first time I hear from you in years is a _goodbye?!_"

"I never called to say it officially, so I thought I should now. I'm going to be going on a . . . a really long trip. I don't think I'll have time to say goodbye again. I don't think I'll ever be hearing . . . or seeing you, again."

"What kind of trip? Where are you going?"

"Some place warm . . . Well, it's probably going to be very . . . hot."

"Well . . . Be sure to wear sunscreen, then."

Moriarty couldn't help but give a little smile. That was his mother. Always protective. "Hey, Mother, I think you should watch the news some time. It might do you some good."

He heard his mother groan. "Fine. I'll check it now, if it'll make you quiet." He heard the television turn on in the background. He thought he heard his mother drop the remote. "Jimmy, why are you on the tellie?" Moriarty couldn't say anything. "Why are they saying you're a convicted criminal?" There was a small gasp. "Death penalty? Jimmy, what _is _this?"

"I've got to go, Mother. Time for my trip." His voice was weak and faint. "Tell Father 'Goodbye' for me, will you?"

"Wait; tell me what this is about! Jim—" Moriarty disconnected the call. He put the phone down and the guards came in. They were awkwardly silent as they took him down the hall toward the room where the execution would be.

The room was circular. A single metal table was in the center. The guards strapped him down and he didn't fight it. What good would that do? He observed that there were window on the walls, so that people could watch. He saw reporters, spectators, and doctors. Then, just in his view, he saw Sherlock and his assistant, John. They both looked solemn, watching their once great enemy being strapped down to a table like this.

The doctor who was in charge of giving him the injection was preparing the syringe. Moriarty kept his eyes locked with Sherlock's.

_I owed you a fall, and you owed me a death . . . _Moriarty closed his eyes as the doctor injected the needle into him, cutting his ties with the detective. _It looks like we both kept our promises . . ._

* * *

**Author's note: Please review; I'd really like to know what you guys think about this! I just thought of this idea, and how I wanted Moriarty to seem a little more human when he finally did die. So review and let me know what you think. Thank you!**

**Also, if you'd like me to write more stories about Moriarty and his past (or just about Moriarty in general) let me know! Thank you for reading!**


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